Shermie
by Deadly Haven
Summary: Sherman Pines has his own family now, but he had one once before. A happy family that became lost and estranged. After thirty years of trying to forget, he has to confront his past.


**A/N: So I read about this headcanon that Shermie lives with a Dipper and Mabel and their parents. It kind of fills the discomfort I've always had that Mabel and Dipper might love their uncles more than their grandfather. This way it's just that they see him so often that it's sort of different. It's not like they occasionally visit like they do with their grunkles. I also found a theory about Shermie. The timeline, as we know, is super messed up. Shermie probably was meant to be the baby in AToTS, but it doesn't make sense when you look at the timeline and Alex even admitted to being horrible at timelines. So Shermie might just not have lived at home anymore. So the explanation here is that the Pines were just babysitting. The only issue I have with this is one that was pointed out: Ford saying, "I have a niece and nephew?" sounded as if it was a whole new experience. I'll just headcanon that it's because he was gone so long that it was basically a new experience, as well as a reminder he had another nephew, a family waiting for him. Anyway, once I heard the "Shermie is older" theory, I knew I had to write this. This is my first time writing something for _Gravity Falls_. ****Go easy on me, lol.**

* * *

I have been living with my son and his family ever since my wife died a few years back. My amazing son, my wonderful daughter-in-law, and my two beloved grandchildren.

This summer, my son and his wife had decided to go on a cruise. I would have been more than happy to look after the children, but for some reason, New Jersey seemed to be calling me. I had a sudden urge to return to my roots, the place I had been raised and grown to resent.

However, someone needed to look after the children. The least likely person came to mind. I recommended my younger brother, Stanford, whom we rarely saw. At first, my son had seemed neutral, then he asked his wife to make sure the children went to bed. Once she was gone, his demeanor changed. He looked at me in a mixture of confusion and anger.

"Uncle Stan?" he said, bewildered. "Are you serious? You want me to put my children in the care of a man who has practically ignored us for the past thirty years?"

"It's not as though we've never seen him," I pointed out. "He came to your wedding."

"He came to a social gathering he felt obligated to attend," my son replied. "After Uncle Stanley died, Uncle Stanford just disappeared on us."

"He was there when the twins were born," I said. "He wasn't obligated to come then."

I remember that day so well. The day my two precious grandchildren were born. I called Stanford and told him that my daughter-in-law was in labor. I was surprised when he showed up at the hospital; he'd laughed at me for wearing a bow tie for the occasion. His eyes had gleamed with joy and pride when he saw the children for the first time, and he practically tried to wrestle them away from me when I held them. I had thought things would be good from that point on.

My son glared at me. "And yet he hasn't shown his face since." The fact that he had loved the twins so much and had been so happy that day made it hurt all the more when he returned to his reclusive nature.

I don't know why I was so defensive. For years, I had thought the exact words my son was now saying, yet for some reason, I was making excuses for my brother. But I believed in him. Despite the fact that Stanford had left his family behind, I was sure he would take the kids in. My son agreed to let me ask, probably since he figured Stanford wouldn't agree, but when I called and asked, Stanford said yes.

I went to my small hometown of Glass Shard Beach that summer. I visited my old home. The same small house cramped between the hot Belgian waffles shop and Knuckles' Sandwiches, both of which were, surprisingly, still in business. Except it no longer held the signs of our family's pawn shop and the window of the floor Mom would do her "readings" on. The windows were open, and I could hear the same, familiar sound of children laughing, running throughout the house. A sound I was accustomed to from both my youth and my present.

I was six years older than the twins. My brothers, that is. I was so excited to learn that I would be a big brother, and I wasn't disappointed. Sure, there was a bond between the two that I would never quite have with either of them, but we all loved each other equally. When Stanford was busy reading, I would play ball with Stanley. When Stanley was grounded, I would read sci-fi comics with Stanford. Sometimes we'd all play tag or they'd even let me in on their "adventures".

Over the years, however, things gradually changed. Stanford was always a smart kid, but eventually we realized he was a savant. Hell, he probably would have made it to college before me if he hadn't been so adamant on staying with his twin. Our parents were so proud of them both. Stanford, their genius son, and Stanley, their little free spirit. Then there was me. Stanford would get straight As, earning praise and attention from our parents. Stanley would get into trouble and get half-heartedly scolded by our parents, who, nine times out of ten, were not-so-secretly amused about whatever he'd done. I'd come home with an A, Stanford would come home with an internship offer despite only being _twelve_. I'd have an interesting story to tell about my day, Stanley would have everyone laughing about whatever shenanigans he had gotten himself into that day .

Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if it was just all in my head. I'm sure my parents loved the three of us equally, but I just couldn't help but feel overshadowed by my little brothers. So when I graduated college, I was so happy to leave that house. Even though my parents told me I could stay until I saved up enough money to get a better place, I was intent on moving into that ratty apartment instead of spending another day as a ghost in my own home. I didn't live that far away, and I stayed in touch. I came home for the holidays, I'd visit and make phone calls. They were my family, after all.

Then one night, I got a phone call from Stanford. He told me about his and Stanley's falling out and how our father had kicked our brother out. He told me to come home. That our mother needed me. I thought it was all some sick joke at first, but I realized it was the truth. The most confusing thing of all was that Stanford thought our mother needed to see _me_. She had lost her little free spirit. All she needed was Stanford by her side to comfort her.

I was so wrong. I came home to see my mother crying. Then when her eyes met mine, it was as though a weight had been lifted from her. She ran to me, hugging me tightly. She said she was so glad to see her baby, Shermie. That's when I realized that, for all those years, I had been an idiot for thinking they hadn't cared.

After that, Stanford and I became close, like we had been when we were younger. He was my best man at my wedding and the godfather of my child. Even when he had to leave on whatever strange adventures he had planned, we would write letters and talk over the phone when we could. We were so close for those years, and then everything changed in an instant.

Stanley had died. We were suddenly contacted about our brother, whom we hadn't seen in years. He had met a horrible fate after a brutal car accident. He was gone. Our mother broke down, and even our father shed tears.

Despite my son, ten at the time, never having known his uncle, I took him to the funeral. I cried during the procession. I hugged Stanford, and I cried. He managed to keep himself together, but I cried into his shoulder, mourning our mutual loss.

Stanford was so strong during it all. He didn't cry, but his eyes showed his sorrow. I addressed him by his nickname when I saw him. "Ford". Stanley and I had always called him Ford. But when Stanford heard that old nickname, he froze up. At the sound of his name, his eyes widened, full of guilt.

"Call me 'Stan' from now on," he had said. "...In... in honor of our brother."

I had thought Stanford and I would remain close, but I was wrong. We drifted apart. We spoke less and less until Stanford almost cut off contact completely. I'd get the occasional letter, the occasional phone call. I could convince him to visit for some holidays, but our relationship had changed.

I spent the rest of the summer of 2012 in New Jersey. I visited old friends, old places. I reminisced. I visited the graves of my parents and my younger brother.

It was a good summer. Bittersweet. I was happy to arrive home. I was the first to come back and was happy to see my family return. Dipper and Mabel were the last to arrive home.

"I have arrived!" my granddaughter announced after kicking open the front door, her hands in the air.

"Mabel Pines, what have we told you about kicking doors?" her father said, having returned home after retrieving the twins from the bus stop.

"But _Daaaaad_ , it was necessary for my dramatic entrance," she argued.

"Was it really?" my daughter-in-law said.

"Mom!" Mabel crowed, grabbing her brother and running towards their mother to embrace her.

"I missed my babies so much," my daughter-in-law said, hugging them and kissing both their heads.

"We're not babies anymore, Mom," Dipper said.

"Yeah, we're thirteen," Mabel added.

"You do look a little taller," I said with a laugh.

Mabel gasped, pointing at me. "Grandpa!" She ran towards me, jumping into my arms.

"How's my favorite girl?"

"Fantastic!" she replied. "I even knit you this sweater on the bus ride home!" She held up a yellow sweater with a gnome on it. I didn't question it.

"It's lovely, dear."

"Dipper, get over here and say hi to Grandpa!" she shouted at her brother.

Dipper rubbed the back of his head sheepishly as he approached. "I'm coming, Mabel. Calm down." He looked up at me and smiled. "It's good to see you, Grandpa."

"You, too, Dipper," I replied, pulling them both into a hug.

Mabel quickly pulled away, jumping up and down in excitement. "Oh my gosh, oh my gosh. We have so much to tell you guys. It was, like, the best summer _ever!_ "

"Really?" I said, surprised. After Stanley's death, Stanford didn't spend much time with my son, his nephew.

"My reaction exactly," my son replied, a hint of biterness in his tone.

"I made so many friends there," Mabel said, a sparkle in her eye. "I even made a scrapbook. Aaaaah! I'm gonna miss them all so much! I'm so glad we got to stay with Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford!"

The room was quiet.

"Stan and Ford?" my son said, confused.

"Oh, did he let you call him Ford?" I said, almost hurt. "And he told you about Stanley?"

"No, no, you don't get it!" Mabel said, waving her hands around frantically.

"Mabel," Dipper whispered, tugging on her sweater as if to remind her of something, but she didn't seem to notice.

"You see, thirty years ago, Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford were arguing, and Grunkle Ford ended up getting sucked through a portal into another dimension!"

"Mabel..."

"So then Grunkle Stan decided to fake his own death and try to rescue Grunkle Ford. And we did! Then we all had to fight against the evil triangle demon, Bill, to save the world, but in the end, we won!"

"Mabel, honey," her mother said carefully, her eyes flickering to me for a moment in concern before looking back at her daughter. "We've talked about this before. It's okay for you to have your make believe, but you have to remember when to separate make believe from real life."

"No, Mom, but it _wasn't_ imaginary. I'm telling the truth!"

"Mabel, you're upsetting your grandfather," her father said sternly. "It's fine if you want to use your imagination, but you need to know when and where to draw the line."

"But there _is_ no line here! I'm serious!"

"She... she's not lying, Dad," Dipper said, now feeling compelled to speak up.

My son rubbed his head in frustration. "Dammit, Dipper, you too?"

"Mason and Mabel Pines, you two tell the truth and apologize _right_ now," their mother said, her voice firm and warning.

Mabel turned to look at me. "Grandpa," she said, her eyes pleading, "you believe us, don't you?"

I paused, thinking of how I could reassure her but unable to think of a way with all these thoughts of my brothers that I had pushed away for so many years now racing through my mind.

"It's been a long day," I said, smiling at everyone. "I'm very tired. I'm going to go to bed now."

Everyone was silent as I walked back to my room. I shut the door behind me, lay down, and closed my eyes, trying to fall asleep so that I could just forget it all.

I could distinctly hear the sound of oinking and hooves tapping across the wooden floor. I heard only one last thing before I drifted off to sleep.

"WHY ON EARTH IS THERE A PIG IN MY HOUSE?"

* * *

Dipper and Mabel refused to admit that they were lying and were grounded for a week by their parents despite my protests and insistence that no harm had been done. Mabel had argued that she had evidence in her scrapbook, but her parents refused to hear it. After a while, she just stopped trying to prove it.

Also, Waddles the pig eventually became a full-fledged member of the family after much begging on Mabel's part until she finally broke her mother's will.

I eventually forgot about what the twins had said those months ago when they first arrived home from Gravity Falls. It seemed so long ago. Snow fell from the sky as Christmas approached, winter vacation only a few days away. Waddles and I were the only ones home; I'd grown rather fond of the pig, actually. I've found myself having long, one-sided conversations with him on multiple occasions. He's actually a very good listener.

I was napping on the armchair when I was woken by the sound of the doorbell and Waddles oinking as he ran towards the front door like a dog ready to welcome a friend into the house.

I opened the door and found two familiar faces looking at me.

"Hey, bro," said Stanley.

My eyes widened.

"I told you we should have called, Stanley," Stanford chided his twin.

I fell to my knees, and my brothers, the both of them, alive, knelt down next to me, smiling warmly.

"Merry Christmas, Shermie."


End file.
